


C is for Casablanca

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Around the World in 26 Days [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Napoleon and Illya enjoy a peaceful Moroccan evening, and Napoleon reminisces on an old misadventure from his greenhorn days.





	C is for Casablanca

Illya should have expected that Napoleon was already well-known among the restaurants and hotels of Casablanca. It was part of Napoleon’s charm—all over the world, he made contacts with the servitors and their employers. It gave him eyes and ears, and acquaintances who would cover for him if need be.

And sometimes, on days like today, it got him—and Illya, who was with him—a private balcony in a classy hotel, with a hot, Moroccan meal served to them after the manager of the hotel greeted Napoleon personally, and then warmly welcomed Illya, as well, insisting that any companion of Napoleon’s was a friend of his, too.

“I really have to hand it to you, Napoleon,” Illya said, chowing down on a mutton kebab. “You do know how to make contacts—and especially here in Casablanca. The setting of your favorite film…”

“Yeah, I’ve known some of these people since I was a probationary agent,” Napoleon admitted. “You can imagine that Casablanca was one of the first places I begged to go on missions when I was starting out in the field.”

“And after all these years, they still remember you,” Illya said.

“There’s no real secret to it. Be kind. Be generous. They remember the really good and the really bad—so be one of the really good. It’s one of those things that they don’t teach you about in Survival School—I picked it up on my own.”

“Indeed, Survival School instructs us that we not draw too much attention to ourselves—to be nondescript,” Illya mused.

“And I think that’s open to interpretation,” Napoleon said. “Sometimes, being on good terms with hotel and restaurant staff can mean the difference between life and death. And it’s not hyperbole, either--Naseer, the manager of this hotel who got us this room, saved my life ten years ago.”

“What happened?”

“I had just cleared my probationary status and came here on my first unsupervised mission, but I was still very much a greenhorn,” Napoleon recalled. “Of course, I stayed at this hotel; I’d already struck up a friendship with Naseer a year before when Mark had been supervising me on a prior mission. A THRUSH agent came in one night, trying to find out my hotel room. Not only did Naseer send the guy away, he woke me up at two in the morning to warn me, made sure I had called for backup, and then saw to it that I was safely en route to Marrakesh concealed in a laundry truck. When the THRUSHie returned with backup, our men were waiting for them.”

Illya, who had been so absorbed in Napoleon’s story, was still absently holding his half-eaten kebab and had been hanging on every word.

“Remind me to thank Naseer the next time we see him,” he said. “You are truly one-of-a-kind, Napoleon, and I am fortunate to have you in my life.”

“Likewise, _Tovarisch_. Likewise.”

They chatted as they continued their meal, enjoying the Moroccan evening—and each other’s company.


End file.
